The Midnight Run
by AndroB
Summary: Chaps 1&2 REVAMPED!. Draco Malfoy is experiencing recurring dreams,no, more like nightmares of death. His death. Who can he turn to for help before he slips into a deadly coma? Cute Hispanic Blaise and draco with the flu!
1. Ron's Robes

Through the thick fog and mist in the night sky a full moon's silhouette was still made out, and so was the hooded figure that chased me, this time like all the rest. I never got a head start—not that it would help, anyhow. The figure still stalked me all night, as if in hope that the last few hours of my life would be filled with fear.

Even at that moment, the figure came closer to me and the huge town bell began to ring as it always did. I backed away even though doing so only made the creature come closer. Three rings, four rings, five, six, seven---the dreaded moment is getting nearer. My heart began to race and my palms became sweaty. I was breathing heavier now. Nine, ten, eleven—my legs immediately shot forward on twelve. Though I was running as fast as my feet would allow me, the figure was nevertheless dangerously close behind: I needed a way to lose the creature. I thought quickly, before doing the first thing that came to mind; taking a right, then a left, right and left again through the dark, deserted streets.

The creature still seemed to know my path even after all the turns, and my panic grew. I would have to resort to my last plan: the forest. I took a quick gasp for air as I made my way into the black forest, desperate to get away. The deeper into the forest I ran, the harder it became to see, and soon heavy, thick branches were cutting into my sides.

Soon my clothes were torn, wet, sticky blood dripped from my face, and still the hooded figure was hot on my trail. I tried to gather my breath to scream, knowing it wouldn't help. No one could hear me. No one ever did. I was always trapped. I always failed to escape. I panted, finally giving up. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The creature knew me; it knew my every move somehow. I backed into the trunk of an old willow tree as the figure closed in on me.

My mind and body went into a state of horror, too petrified to move or scream. I could no longer care that I was doomed. At that moment I couldn't even think. It was as if the creature erased my every thought and care. I strained to remember my life. It must have been the work of the creature—that or I was so terrified that I couldn't think at all. The figure laughed, finding humor in his work as I still strained for at least a moment—a memory, just one memory of my life, good or bad. I fought against the creature as it leaned forward, lowering its long, black cape to reveal—

"D man—c'mon dude! Wake up; we have class today! It's not Sabado o Domingo!"

I awoke in a sweat, my heart racing and head pounding. I'd had this dream several times before, always waking up at the exact same moment: before the creature revealed exactly what it was. I didn't know if it was a demon, Dementor, Death Eater, or if it was just a normal witch or wizard. I wasn't sure what was under that long, black cape, but it's really beginning to bother me.

I moaned, looking at the clock on my beside to find out I only had fifteen minutes to get to Transfiguration on time. I felt terrible, too. My head pounded, I was sweating and shivering, and to top it all off, my eyes were heavy—I could barely stay awake.

Blaise, who'd woken me, looked down into my face with great concern. "Dude, you coming to class today?" he asked. "'Cause Hector and I are waiting on you."

Apparently, he hadn't noticed that I was feeling sick. "Just give me a minute to get up." My voice cracked and I sniffled, reaching for a tissue.

Blaise gave me an odd look. "D, man, esta bien? I mean, you look a little pale this morning," he said, finally seeming to notice that I felt sick.

I sighed and shook my head. Blaise always seemed to forget that while he came from a Spanish family, I couldn't understand a word of the language, but I got his basic meaning most of the time. I sighed again, looking at my friend. "I shouldn't think that I'm really sick—or at least I hope not. I'm probably just shaken right now because--"

"You had the dream again," Blaise finished for me.

I nodded. I had told Blaise and Hector about the dream the second time I had it. This was the fifth time. Hector insisted that it was just a dream, and it meant nothing, but I kept getting this feeling at the pit of my stomach that it did mean something. Blaise agreed with me. Why else would it repeat itself over and over again? It must have meant something…but what?

I rubbed my eyes and tried to put the dream out of my mind. I had other things to worry about right then…like my health, my friends, getting to Transfiguration on time and other problems besides dreams. I yawned, not feeling any better than when Blaise first woke me up. "Blaise, you and Hector should go on to class, okay?" I told him after a moment of silence.

"All right—but don't forget to come to class after I've gone," he replied, expecting me to laugh, although I didn't.

"Okay, not funny," he admitted after a moment of silence. "It sounded a lot funnier in my brain. You know how that is!"

He sighed, still standing over my bed. "You need to get up, mate," he finally said.

I groaned. Honestly, at that moment, I wasn't sure if I could get up. I didn't tell Blaise this, though. He'd want me to stay in bed, which was something I simply couldn't do. McGonagall was supposed to announce something very important today, and I couldn't miss it. I simply couldn't. "Just go to class, Blaise. I'll get up in a minute or two," I told him, coughing into my hand so Blaise wouldn't get my germs.

"Fine! I know when I'm not wanted! Some people just don't realize how cool I really am!" he said sarcastically.

I gave him a weak smile. "Then go—don't let me keep you," I replied, still coughing and sniffling.

I wondered if I'd caught the flu. "All right—I guess I DOwait for you too much," he said thoughtfully.

I smiled. This was true, no doubt about it. I cleared my throat enough to say good-bye. "See you in a few," I told him, my voice dry and raspy voice.

Anyone would be able to tell I felt sick with the way my voice sounded.

"Adios," Blaise replied, turning around and heading towards the door.

That was Blaise Zabini for you, walking around speaking Spanish all the time without even realizing it. I had to admit, he could seriously get on my nerves… but there was something about his down- to- earth personality that I couldn't help but like. He was one of those people that, no matter how hard you tried to hate, it never worked, and you ended up liking them even more.

Blaise and I became best friends in our fourth year at Hogwarts. Crabbe and Goyle at the time had gotten food poisoning, so I was left alone in the common room that day. While everyone else went to dinner, he came up to me and just started talking. Both of us had stayed behind to finish up our extremely long Transfiguration essay. I remember what a relief it was to actually talk to him—and really _talk,_ unlike the dull, limited conversations with Crabbe and Goyle.

Following that night, I always went to him when I needed a real conversation, and knew he'd help out the best that he could. I still had Crabbe and Goyle as friends, usually to flank me, but not as often. Now that I'm older, and actually have a real friend, I don't need them around as much.

And even though Blaise could completely lose his upper- class manner to the point where anyone would swear he was lower- class if they didn't know him personally, within seconds, he knew how to straighten up. Around his mum, he acted a lot like me—of course, he hated acting that way, which was why he only acted that way around her. Seems a bit odd that he'd consider me a friend because of this, but I suppose true friends _are_ the ones that accept you for who you truly are.

As for Hector Emerson, I got to know him through Blaise. Hector is actually his second middle name, which he prefers over Enrique David. Hector is one year younger, but he takes all advanced classes, therefore he takes class with Blaise and I. Instead of Spanish, he uses lots of American phrases because his mum is a Californian witch. He didn't move to Britain until he was nine years old.

Hector can be annoying, too—but what did I expect from a friend of Blaise's? Of course, Hector isn't nearly as down-to-earth, but he's extremely uptight. If something is out of order or out of place, it drives him insane. Which does make for hilarious pranks…

I looked at my watch again. I now only had eight minutes to get to Transfiguration on time. There was no way I could possibly make it. Not with the way I felt. I felt like I'd fallen off of my broom or I'd just been struck by lightning. Still, late or on time, I had to go to my lesson. I absolutely, no doubt about it, had to go to Transfiguration. If I didn't have to go, I would've told Blaise I felt seriously ill. But I didn't tell him, so I had to get up.

I sneezed, grabbing another tissue. Then, after a few more sneezes, I slowly stood up and untangled myself from the covers, still feeling dizzy, sweaty, and cold. I walked over to my wardrobe and quickly threw on my robes and combed my hair. If I wanted to at least make it to the lesson today, I was going to have to get going.

After taking care of a few more things, I headed for the classroom, stopping briefly every so often when I felt dizzy or nauseous. I also had to move slowly because otherwise I felt like vomiting. This, of course, slowed me down considerably. I had to keep leaning against the wall. A couple of times I even had to sit down until the dizziness passed. Still, I thought I'd be fine once I sat down.

Finally, after much wasted time, I reached McGonagall's classroom, ten minutes late. I gently opened the heavy wooden door and then let it slam shut behind me to grab everyone's attention. Now everyone would know I arrived. As a bonus, it created a stir. If anyone had been about to dose off, the sudden noise prevented that. Not to mention, it completely annoyed Professor McGonagall. I looked around for an empty seat to find there was only one. Too bad that the last seat had to be beside my worst enemy: Harry Potter. Scowling, I sat down as McGonagall patiently waited on me.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said tersely, "exactly WHY do you feel the need to be late for my lesson?"

"I don't," I replied simply, "It was an accident, Professor. I meant to be on time."

"Well, whatever the truth of the matter, Mr. Malfoy, you have just cost the Slytherin house ten points!" She said matter- of - factly.

I rolled my eyes. Could she not tell that I was shaky and sweaty? Did she not care if I was ill?

" Maybe I'm sick, and I threw up on my way here!" I retorted, my voice undeniably hoarse.

" Mr. Malfoy, if you threw up on your way here, why did you even bother showing up? I certainly don't want you spreading germs to the entire classroom. You would be better off in the hospital wing,"

" I didn't say that I _did_ throw up, I said that it _could_ have been a possibility as to why I'm late," I snapped, furrowing my eyebrows.

" Well, obviously you didn't throw up, because otherwise you wouldn't have the strength to argue with me, Mr. Malfoy…"

" That's not fair, Professor, I _am_ sick, just not sick enough to be in the hospital wing!" I explained, knowing I'd made a mistake in making my illness known. The last place I wanted to be was the hospital wing.

" Well, if you are not sick enough to be in the hospital wing, then you are not sick enough to be late to my class without consequences,"

" But--"

"Now, as I was saying," McGonagall cut me off, "you are to work with your partner to find the name of a spell using the clues. Then you shall need to explain what the words are, how many times to say it and the wand movements to match. I'm sorry I had to repeat myself just because Mr. Malfoy wasn't here on time."

I rolled my eyes again.

"Remember, the lesson will end fifteen minutes early so I can make an announcement. Work hard and partner with the person next to you!"

I froze. Oh, bugger, it would be my luck to be sitting next to Potter the day she decided to have your partner be whoever was sitting beside you. McGonagall is such a cow! Even when I felt good and was at the top of my game, I never wanted Potter as a partner. I wanted to deal with him even less since I was feeling so dizzy and nauseous. I turned to face him to see he didn't look too happy about McGonagall's idea, either.

I would have said something nasty to him, but honestly, I really didn't feel like it. My stomach burned, making me feel like all my insides had just caught fire, and my teeth were chattering as I began to feel goosebumps develop all over my arms and legs. The ends of my blonde hair were drenched in sweat as wet drops rolled down my face. It was as if I'd just played a rough game of Quidditch.

My energy level fell down to near-empty, leaving me feeling rather lifeless as I glanced Potter's way once more, wishing I had at least one good insult to throw at him. Yet I had nothing. I moaned, thinking how warm it would be inside my bed. How stupid was I? I should have stayed in the dorms. I really wished that I did…


	2. Ron's Robes part 2

Hector walked around the room passing out our worksheets. I took one and looked it over, but before I could finish, Potter grabbed it out of my hands and stuffed it into his bags, laughing hysterically. Okay—that struck me as odd as that's not normally something Potty would do, but I swear he did it. I wondered if maybe he had gone crazy. I wouldn't have put it past him. He reached out under his desk and sat back up with a pile of books under his arms.

I watched scarhead in complete shock as he began to stack all of his books on my desk in front of me. I gaped at him, shocked. What did he think he was doing? The stack of books had become face level now and I couldn't even see beyond the pile. I glared at Potter, then at the stack again, thinking that he had some nerve. I read the titles of workbooks before me: Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, Potions, grades two, three, four, and five…

"Potter! Stop! I don't want your filthy books on my desk! Put them away!" I complained, furrowing my eyebrows.

"Malfoy, my books aren't on your desk, so why don't you shut and help me out with this assignment…you know what? On second thought, don't help me. I don't trust you to answer these right," he hissed, still stacking books in my face.

Divination, Muggle Studies, Defense Against the Dark Arts…

"I said STOP!" I growled, wishing only I felt better so I could punch him for being such an inconsiderate prat.

"Stop WHAT, Malfoy?" Harry snapped quietly as to keep our conversation private, "What are you going on about?"

"This!" I gestured. "Putting your foul books on my desk. Move them at once!"

"Have you been into Professor Snape's personal store of potions, Malfoy? I've not even put one book on your desk. You must be seeing things," he said, pulling out his Care of Magical Creatures book and adding it to the stack.

"How can you say that?" I half-screamed, "look at all these books! I bet there are at least twenty! Here, I'll even count them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve—"

"Malfoy, you're just pointing to thin air and counting. I see nothing but you acting like an idiot. You've gone totally barking mad," Potter interrupted me rudely.

I scowled and continued to count, "thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. You see, Potter? There are twenty! Open your eyes," I told him as he rolled his eyes instead.

"Whatever you say, Malfoy!" he replied sarcastically, now adding an arithmancy book to my desk.

"Twenty-one," I whispered.

"Total lunatic," he whispered back.

"Totally not!" I replied.

He looked me straight in the face now. "You're seeing things other people don't! Tell me you're not totally off your bird!"

"I am not at all off my--" I was interrupted as Professor McGonagall strode towards the two of us.

"What seems to be the problem, boys?" she questioned, tapping her foot impatiently on the stone floor.

"No problem, Professor," I answered quickly.

She glared down at the desk in exasperation. "No problem between you two? I find that oddly hard to believe, as you haven't even started the assignment. Now, I'm going to ask one more time, what is the problem?"

"It's Potter," I told her, irritated, "you see all the books on my desk? Every one of them is his. Every single book! He keeps denying they are even on my desk, but as you can clearly see, he's lying. Can you believe him? He obviously thinks I'm blind or something. But I'm not—there are twenty-one of his books on my desk—if I counted right that is. But still--"

"Oh, now, hold on, Mr. Malfoy. There are no books on your desk. I don't see what the fuss is about. Unless you're not feeling well—have you felt sick, Mr. Malfoy?"

"No," I lied.

She put her hand on her hip. "Mr. Malfoy…" she drawled.

I sighed. "Fine—" I stopped, feeling sick once more, so I laid my head down on my desk pathetically as a groan escaped my lips.

McGonagall bent down in front of me. "Mr. Malfoy, I need to know. In what manner are you not feeling well?" she quizzed again, sounding like a healer.

I almost felt too weak to answer, but I needed to tell her so I could go back to bed or something. "I can't stop sneezing or coughing and I'm really cold and sweaty. And—I'm feeling queasy too," my voice cracked.

"Perhaps you should visit Madam Pomfry. The flu has been going around, and if you have it, we certainly don't want you spreading it," she said. "Mr. Potter and Mr. Zabini, would you two kindly escort Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing? I'm afraid he'll pass out if no one helps him. I'd appreciate it so much if you help him out. Thank you."

I sighed, lifting my head up and slowly standing up to follow my friend and my enemy. A rush of dizziness hit me once more and the fire feeling in my stomach returned as I headed for the doors. I made it to the back of the room before I suddenly stopped, grabbing the edge of a nearby desk for support. A disgusting taste filled my mouth, and I attempted to hold back the contents of my stomach. I felt a fierce gurgle bubbling like the fizz in a soda can up my throat at an undeniably fast pace. Wildly looking around, I frantically search for a container, an empty cauldron, even—anything! Suddenly spotting the rubbish bin at the back of the room, I lurched forward. But it was too late and I vomited explosively to say in the very least.

Vaguely, I heard angry voices yelling, but my ears were too preoccupied with the sounds of my own retching. At last, it was over and I inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, peeling my eyes open to the chaotic scene laid out before me.

The first thing I noticed was that I was eye to eye with Ron Weasley, who stared at me in shocked disgust. After a tense moment, I understood why, as I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my robe and stared down at his puke covered desk. The front of his robes were specked with the remnants of last night's dinner, and when he jumped up, I witnessed a most unpleasant sight. A pool of vomit slid out of his lap, down his legs, and onto his shoes.

Several people screamed and started yelling across the room again now that Weasley had stood. Even through my dizziness, I noticed with delight, the priceless reactions of everyone in the room. Potter jumped up, tripping over desks, as he hurried forward to see if his friend was okay. He made sure to shoot me a dangerous, disgusted look.

Weasley's reaction; however, had to be the winner of all reactions. He gagged, his face a nasty shade of green. For a moment, I could have sworn that he was about to throw up, as well. But then he sucked it up, and appeared to decide to become angry instead of sickened. His face and ears switched from green to red, and to make matters worse, Blaise burst out in a hysterical laughter. Blaise's sudden outburst really stood out since by now the yelling had ceased and most people were either snickering quietly behind their hands or still in shock.

" Oh, you think it's _funny_, Zabini?" Weasley fumed as Potter rushed over to him.

Blaise quickly regained his composure out of fear of what a vomit- covered Weasley might do. I had to admit, even though I hadn't meant to puke on Weasley, it was pretty funny. It without a doubt surpassed everything I had ever done him and Potter and Granger to make their lives complete misery.

" ZABINI! POTTER!" McGonagall interrupted harshly, saving Blaise from having to answer Weasley, " I believe I told the two of you to escort Malfoy to the hospital wing! Quickly! Before he spreads more germs in my classroom!"

I felt Blaise and Potter each grab one of my arms to lead me out into the hall, although I could barely stand.

" It's okay, Draco. You'll be fine. I had no idea this morning that you were so sick. Why didn't you tell me?" Blaise seemed miles and miles away even though I knew he was right there beside me, supporting half my weight as we made our journey to the Infirmary.

Together with a lot of help from Blaise and hardly any from Potter, we finally reached the hospital wing. I immediately sat down on the nearest bed, praying I wouldn't be sick again. Madam Pomfrey walked towards us, her face twisted into a serious expression. Her wrinkled white uniform and her baggy eyes suggested that she had worked way too many hours without any breaks at all. "What seems to be the problem, boys?" she asked, sounding annoyed.

Why did everyone keep saying that? First McGonagall and now Madam Pomfrey.

"It's Draco," Blaise stated simply.

Madam Pomfrey took a deep sigh, rolling her eyes. I was sure that she hated me. I had really annoyed her during the last five years—coming to her for paper cuts, sore throats, the flu, pneumonia in fourth year, dragon pox in my first year, a hippogriff bite in my third year, a Quidditch accident in my second year…

"What's wrong now, Mr. Malfoy? Another paper cut?" she questioned, placing her hand on her hip.

Blaise spoke for me, "It's more than a paper cut," he told her.

"Well, what's wrong then?" she asked.

"Yo no se, that's why we're here," Blaise replied.

She nodded and Scarface smiled. "All we know is that Malfoy's completely lost it. He's hallucinating, vomiting, sweating, shivering, and having dizzy spells," he told her proudly.

I scowled. "I'm not hallucinating!"

"Hmm…have you been seeing odd things that no one else does?" she questioned.

"No," I lied. "Except…for when Potter kept stacking books on my desk—twenty-one, I counted them and--"

"You've been hallucinating, like it or not, Mr. Malfoy," she said, taking out a wizard thermometer and scanning it across my forehead.

"Your temperature is 105—no wonder you're hallucinating things. Well, not to worry. I know what you have. It's not life threatening—just the flu," she explained.

I'd expected this, so I stretched out across the bed, feeling dizzy once more as the room began to swim, all the colors bleeding together into one huge unrecognizable swirl. As I shut my eyes, I heard Blaise speaking rapidly to Madam Pomfrey in what sounded like Spanish.

Madam Pomfrey fumed audibly, and I couldn't resist opening my eyes again. Now that I was lying down, my vision had somewhat cleared. It was still fuzzy, but not a blur of colors like it had been.

"Mr. Zabini, no one here understands Spanish. Please do not expect me or anyone else to understand you. You can just return to class, because I am in no mood to tolerate you if you refuse to speak the language that _I_ understand," She was clearly trying to restrain some of her anger.

"I'm sorry—I meant for that to come out in English. I don't know why it came out in Spanish! So, how long is Draco gonna be in here?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Mr. Zabini, don't waste my time with stupid questions! You know the routine—one week at the very most," she replied.

It didn't need to be a full week in reality, but she always insisted her patients to stay until there was no doubt that they were better. She didn't want anyone fainting in the hallways because she had released them too early.

Blaise looked shocked at her answer. "No manera!" he shouted.

Madam Pomfrey's face turned red from anger, and it looked as though she were thoroughly sick of Blaise and his Spanish. "Shouldn't you two be reporting back to class by now?" she questioned harshly.

Blaise smiled. "Okay—adios, Draco," he said, walking away.

Potter just smirked, clearly trying not to laugh as he followed my best friend out of the wing. I closed my heavy eyes, falling into a deep sleep almost at once…


	3. Ron's Robes Part 3

HERMIONE GRANGER

A/N:_ Hello Everybody! I'm back and I've decided to separate part of Ron's Robes part 2 so you don't have to read a lot in one chapter. Enjoy & Read and Review. Adios._

Ron's Robes Pt. 3 Hermione Granger 

"Hang on, you two—I just need to return _Dealing with Dragons_ to the library," I told my friends Harry and Ron as we approached the school library on our way to class.

Ron rolled his eyes at me. "You act like it's due today!" he complained.

"Ron, it is. Besides, it'll only take a second," I assured him, running into the rather large library and dropping the heavy book into a pile of other due books.

As simple as that. Nothing to it. So, without any more hold-ups of any kind, I strolled back into the hall where my friends stood waiting for me. "Now see, you guys that didn't take long, now did it?" I asked as we began walking to class.

"What are you talking about, Hermione? We thought you'd never come out!" Ron joked sarcastically.

I gave him a faint smile. Harry laughed, giving Ron a high five. "Very funny, you guys," I said, but that was the end of it, for at that moment we'd reached Transfiguration.

This is why I don't understand why Ron complains so much when I stop by the library on the way to class. McGonagall's room is only right down the hall from the library. I sighed, forgetting about it as I took a seat in the middle of the room, away from both Ron and Harry.

Class started about five minutes later. McGonagall took roll first thing to make sure everyone was present. "Okay, let's see…I saw Avery come in, I see Miss Brown and Miss Bulstrode. There's Crabbe, Granger, Goyle, Longbottom—and Finnigan, of course. Parkinson, Potter, Thomas, Weasley—I see everyone is here today except Mr. Malfoy. Can anyone tell me where he is?"

I smiled. Maybe he was sick and would be out for a month. I truly hoped so. Blaise Zabini quickly raised his hand; he was a friend of Malfoy's. "Draco is just gonna be about five minutes late. He was feeling rough this morning. Better late than absent right?" he asked.

"Right—I guess, anyway. Okay—Thank you, Mr. Zabini. Now that I've taken care of today's attendance, I want to talk about today's lesson. I'm going to partner you up because the worksheet is a little tricky and many of you came up to me last week complaining about how confusing the information was. Let's see…for example number 8 has this clue: '_you may use me when hunger strikes without warning. Not prepared? Use me—but wisely now, for there are three of me.'_

_"_Now some of you may want to write down the answer right now, then copy it when I hand you the worksheets. I'm going to walk you through this one…"

I rolled my eyes. She didn't need to do that—the answers were simple. Still, I listened to her explanation. "There are three types of this spell, and they have to do with hunger. This one is used when you need food fast. You know all of that from the clue, correct?" McGonagall questioned.

The entire class shouted 'correct', including me, except for the exception of Blaise Zabini, who shouted 'corrija', the Spanish word for correct. Blaise speaks a lot of Spanish, and if I'm not mistaken his mum is from Mexico and his dad is from Portugal but he was raised right here in Britain. He's actually pretty cool, considering the fact that he's a Slytherin. I think. Maybe. Did I just say a Slytherin was cool? A Slytherin who is friends with Malfoy? I can't believe myself! Wait—what's so bad about Slytherin again? I don't have to hate all Slytherin's—right? Hold up—I am not crushing on Blaise, if that's what you think. Am I? He is kinda cute…

"Good," McGonagall went on. "Now, the three hunger spells are: The Quick-fix, the everlasting homemade food spell, and the Good for a Day spell.." I drifted off.

Those beautiful brown eyes Blaise has…they are so hot. I don't care that his skin is a little darker than most people's—it's only because he's Hispanic. He's not actually black. Oh, he is so hot…I wonder if he likes me—do I have a chance with him? No, no, he could never like me…

"And because of that, we know Good for a Day is out of question. So we look at the homemade spell…" McGonagall went on and on.

So…do I like him? His legs are so smooth—I saw him in shorts the other day and nearly screamed. He was gorgeous! And he looks awesome in black. I mean awesome…

"Problem solved. I'll let you figure out the rest. Look up the Quick-fix and answer the questions. Hector, will you kindly pass out the worksheets?"

Hector Avery, Malfoy's other best friend, nodded as he stood to his feet and walked over to her desk. He suddenly stopped as a door slammed in the back of the room. Everyone turned around—Malfoy had arrived. He stumbled to the front of the room to the only empty seat—the one next to Harry. My stomach fluttered I could have taken that seat if I hadn't been so mad at them. Our reason for anger was so stupid anyway—fighting over the library! That's so pathetic. Don't you agree? I just hoped Harry wouldn't be too awfully mad at me. I watched Malfoy as he sat down, and maybe it was just me, but he looked a littler paler than usual. McGonagall briefly explained what the worksheet was about for him and docked ten points from Slytherin, cheering all Gryffindors up. Of course, this was quickly followed up with not so good news.

Our partners were to be whoever sat beside us. I gulped. Lavender Brown would be my partner. It's not that I have anything against her—I mean, she really is sweet and kind, but boy, can she be annoying. She panics at hard work all the time and can turn ugly, believe me. I smiled at her, remembering Harry had Malfoy and Ron had Goyle. This made me feel better. I faced Lavender as we received our worksheet from Hector.

"Ooh…this is easy!" I smiled, looking at it to find it wasn't hard at all.

Lavender, on the other hand, went pale white as if someone close to her had just died. "This is hard!" she shrieked, breaking down completely. " She cannot just expect us to do this—don't you agree? What twisted person can even understand this junk? McGonagall must be planning to fail us all and--"

"Lavender, I said--"

"Hermione! This is serious! I have no time to have a conversation with you at the moment! We need to try and understand all this so we'll pass. We have to pass—if I fail—oh, my! If I failed, mum would ground me for life! I--"

"Lavender, please, I can explain--"

"HERMIONE—have you looked at this? No one could explain this—I didn't even understand the problem McGonagall walked us through, much less any of these other problems. Number one is really difficult—listen--"

"LAVENDER!" I screamed. "I UNDERSTAND THIS!"

She froze in mid-sentence, taking a deep sigh. "Really?" she questioned, halfway smiling as her face turned a little red from embarrassment.

"Really," I assured her, beginning to explain number one. "It's a famous spell called the Duel-Approved Disarming Spell, where you repeat latipacel dexiftifvah yhista twice to get the full effect. You should point your wand directly at the heart of your opponent, okay?"

She scribbled this all down, looking back up at me. "I still need to know how it's pronounced for the question to be complete," she informed me, handing over the worksheet and quill.

I looked at the last blank and neatly wrote the answer. Pronounced: lot-A-pace-el dex-if-tif-vah yuh-hist-a. Lavender smiled, loving the fact I knew how to do the worksheet. She looked very pleased. "Thanks, Hermione! We make a great team!" she said happily.

A team? I did all the work, not her! I would've told her this if it weren't for McGonagall. "Mr. Potter and Mr. Zabini would you two kindly escort Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing? I'm afraid he'll pass out if no one helps him. I'd appreciate it so much if you helped him out, thank you," she said.

Apparently Malfoy wasn't feeling too good. I knew he looked paler than normal when he walked in today. Harry and Blaise both stood up walking towards the door. Malfoy stood up very slowly, shaking like mad. He really shouldn't have come to class today. He looked even worse than he did five minutes ago.

I almost felt sorry for the guy. Wait! Did I—I did, didn't I? I can't believe I just said that! Bugger! Hermione, what were you thinking? This is Malfoy I'm talking about—Slytherin King who hates mudbloods—people like me. I should be happy he's sick. Why am I even saying I should be happy? I AM happy! I'm totally and completely happy he's sick—aren't I?

Ugh! There I go again with the conflicting and strange feelings! First Blaise and now Malfoy. What is wrong with me today? I shouldn't be crushing on Slytherins! I should be checking out Gryffindors or Ravenclaws, even Hufflepuffs, but not Slytherins! Never Slytherins. Dating a Slytherin can be dangerous and heartbreaking, and not to mention just flat out WRONG! Let us both never speak of my awkward feeling today ever again.

Now…I'm guessing you'd like to find out what happens next, right? Let me just tell you this: you DON'T wanna know. Really, you don't. It's gross and very unpleasant. Disturbing if you will. Oh—you don't mind? Okay, if you insist—but, remember, you're the one who asked for me to go on…

Malfoy got all the way to the back of the room and then he stopped right at Ron's desk. He looked like he was about to faint—or even worse, barf. I held my breath. Maybe that wouldn't happen. He held onto the edge of Ron's desk, gagging. Ron gulped, as my stomach tightened. Everyone knew what came next. Even me. He wasn't going to faint—at least not yet anyway.

He was going to do something much worse. Ron held his breath, looking both horrified and angry. I really wish we hadn't started fighting—then Ron would be up here with me. I'm never gonna quit blaming myself for our fight—never!

Malfoy gagged again, this time vomiting, and I don't mean on the floor. It went into Ron's lap and all over his shoes. Malfoy may hate Ron, but I knew he didn't mean to do that to him—he was probably so sick he didn't even think about it. But Ron wouldn't see it that way. He would have a fit.

Harry and Blaise quickly grabbed Malfoy before he fainted or hurled again. They slowly walked the remaining path to the door and left, on their way to the hospital wing. Ron was fuming by now. "WHY THAT LIITLE FREAK! YOU CAN'T EVEN SAY THAT WAS AN ACCIDENT! NASTY LITTLE GIT STOPPED RIGHT AT MY DESK SO HIS VOMIT WOULD LAND ON ME! UGH! HE'S BLOODY GONNA PAY FOR THAT ONE!" Ron screamed.

I tried my best to calm him. "Ron, it really WAS an accident," I assured him, taking out my wand.

"Yeah right!" he breathed.

I crossed my arms as he rolled his eyes. "What—you're defending Malfoy now?"

"Eeww—No! I—I'm just—I'm just trying to—calm you down and prove a point at the same time," I explained.

I knew he didn't believe me, but it was the best I had to offer at that moment. Truthfully, deep down inside I think I WAS defending him. Maybe. Hopefully not, I'm not sure at this point. Anyways, I lifted my wand up and cleared my throat. "Washelton Cleaneanensero!" I shrieked, and Ron's Robes were as good as new.


	4. The Owl Pal Program

"Hermione, Malfoy is Malfoy is Malfoy—do you really believe that he simply accidentally barfed on his enemy's robes? No—you can't can you? That was pure evil on Malfoy's part. There was no accident to it!" Ron was still upset.

"I agree it's odd that it happened to be you, but your robes are clean now, so get over it," I told him.

His face turned blood red. His veins popped out, too. "**GET OVER IT? GET OVER IT? HERMIONE—HAVE YOU LOST YOUR BLOODY MIND? MALFOY BARFED ON MY ROBES AND ONCE THEIR CLEAN ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY IS 'GET OVER IT? I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!**"

"Well, yeah!" I replied calmly and yet still sassy.

He growled, opening his mouth and closing it again. "Look," I went on. "Your robes are clean, you can wear them again—they aren't ruined or anything. I don't see what the big deal is."

"Excuse me?" His voice had suddenly softened, preparing to yell again.

My stomach tightened—Ron and I were sinking deeper and deeper into a serious and deadly fight. This could get ugly. "The big deal is Malfoy, okay. Now, I'm sorry you have a crush on him but--"  
"I do not have a crush on--"

"Then why are you defending him and not me, huh?" he spat. "Anyone would mistake him as your big crush by the way your defending him! Heck—I could be mistaken as your enemy--"

"And whose fault is that?" I screamed.

"Certainly not mine!" he yelled.

"Yeah, right, you—you—you—I can't even say it!" I shrieked.

"Well, I'll say it for you," Ron smirked. "You're a brat, betrayer, smart alec, know-it-all, show-off, ugly miss--"

"I know you are, but what am I?" I quickly snapped back.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, that is so low, Hermione! Pre-school, if I daresay," he sneered with another roll of his eyes.

"Well, at least my eyeballs aren't loose like yours, Ronald. Dear, dear, I'm afraid they might fall out if they roll again! I might as well punch them out—and while I'm at it, why don't I simply give your whole face a punch! Maybe then you'll wake up and see that you're the huge brat around here!" I shouted.

"Oh, shut up!" he snapped, clenching his fists.

I wanted to scream so badly as I felt my face redden from my anger. No one made me mad quite like Ron did. We both shot angry faces at each other until McGonagall walked towards the pair of us, her face made into an unpleasant frown.

"I believe you've already figured out that I'm not too happy with the pair of you," she said very coldly.

A slight chill ran down my spine from her icy voice. "Bickering doesn't solve anything, and Mr. Weasley, I expected you to act a bit more mature today. I suppose I was asking too much out of you. And Ms. Granger, I really thought you'd try to explain to Mr. Weasley that it was an accident. I certainly didn't expect all this bickering and fighting. So, I'm taking five points from Gryffindor for your lack of maturity. Be thankful it isn't more," she hissed, turning away and walking back up to her desk.

"See what you did!" Ron breathed harshly after a moment of silence between us.

"Shut up!" I breathed back, not daring to even look him in the face.

This was too much for one day already. "** NOW**!" McGonagall shouted suddenly to hush the room.

"I am deeply sorry for the delay on starting class back up again. I thank all of you who acted mature just now. Others…" she gave Ron and I a cold and ugly stare. "…I am deeply disappointed in, as I expected all of you to act mature. The flu is going around. So what? The mess that was made has been cleaned up, and it could've happened to any of you. As far as I am concerned, it never even happened. If I have to hear any of you speaking of it while I am present, points will be docked. Understood?"

Everyone nodded, knowing that McGonagall always kept her word. O shook my head from anger. This whole day seemed like a load of bollix. It wasn't me at all! First I fight about a library book, then I crush on Blaise, feel sorry for Malfoy, defend Malfoy after he barfs on my best friend, bicker with Ron, get points docked from Gryffindor, and now I'm getting an angry stare from Professor McGonagall and half of my classmates. Bugger!

"All right. If each of you will listen up, I'll make my important announcement. I see that both Mr. Potter and Mr. Zabini have finally returned—thank you boys…"

I turned around to see Harry and Blaise quietly searching for an empty seat. Blaise was so graceful and hot…he knows just how to walk for a girl to notice him…does he even have a girlfriend? I know he went to the Yule Ball with Chanel, but I heard they broke up…

"Miss Granger, are you paying any attention at all to me?"

I jumped with a slight yelp, turning to see McGonagall leaning on my desk, waiting. "S-Sorry, Ma'am," I stuttered as my professor grunted and turned away.

Today really wasn't my day. "Anyways…" McGonagall went on. "Dumbledore and I have been thinking for months on a way to reunite the four houses at Hogwarts. Finally, we thought of something call an Owl Pal Program. Every student in every year will have a secret pal that they must write to. You will each receive a barn owl from the owlery, but only you need to know the owl's name. For example, if my owl's name were Roxy, I would write my letter and bring it to Roxy. The owl would deliever my letter to my secret pal and come back to me when that person wrote back. You will never know whom you are writing to, not even at the end of the program. You could be writing to anyone from a first year to seventh. Any questions so far?" she asked.

Hector rose his hand quickly. "Two things," he said upfront.

"Okay, shoot," McGonagall answered.

"How long is this gonna last and do we have to do it?"

McGonagall laughed at the second part. "Two months Mr. Avery, and yes the Owl Pal Program is mandatory," she told him as Lavender raised her hand.

"You mean we can't tell this person our name?" she questioned when she was called on.

"No, Miss Brown, you can't," McGonagall replied calmly.

"But I can't write a letter if I don't know a single thing about them--"

"That's what makes it a challenge! Plus, Miss Brown you can ask them if they are a boy or girl and what year they are in. I just don't want you to exchange names. This is to bring Hogwarts together. I want everyone to realize that house you are in is not what matters. What matters is your heart and how you present yourself," McGonagall explained.

I smiled. Ron needed to hear this—he's a big Slytherin hater. He'd start a Slytherin Haters Club if he could. Goyle raise his hand now. "I don't get it!" he told her.

Half of the class snickered behind their hands. How immature…

"Just write a letter, Goyle, and come to me so I can take care of it," she replied because no matter how many times she explained it, neither Crabbe nor Goyle would understand it.

"The part I don't get, though is who to write to," he explained.

Everyone laughed again at this. "You're not suppsed to get that part, Mr. Goyle. No one know exactly whom they are writing to," she replied to a very confused Goyle. "Just talk to me after class, Goyle, I'll explain everything for you."

He nodded, gathering his books and making his way up to McGonagall's desk as everyone else raced out of the door at exactly 9:00. Class was finally over. I had a whole hour before Charms, followed by Defense Against the Dark Arts and double Care of Magical Creatures. I took a deep sigh, gathering all my books together and heading towards the door when I overhead Blaise and Hector having an interesting conversation.

"Dude, I sure hope the D'man doesn't feel as bad as he did a couple of years ago with the flu," Blaise was saying. "Do you remember the summer before our third year when he had all of those crazy hallucinations?"

Hector laughed, apparently remembering. "I know—man, Draco would kill us for still laughing about those! Still, the time when he saw his mum fighting vampires in his room cracks me up!"

"Yeah—the image of Mrs. Malfoy punching and kicking like a slayer is a bit disturbing," Blaise snorted.

"The story is funny, though, how Draco thought the vamps were after him. Then, suddenly, Mrs. Malfoy to the rescue! Wearing black leather pants along with a black tank top, high-heel boots and holding a wooden stake in her smooth, recently-creamed hands!"

"Yeah, D'man thanked his mum for saving his life later that day—she didn't know what he was going on about at first 'til she realized it had to be one of his crazy hallucinations," Blaise concluded as they still laughed and snorted at how funny it was.

"Oh—and do you remember the one where his dad was this military king so he sat on a throne at the edge of Draco's bed, commanding him to get up and do forty push-ups?" Hector asked.

Blaise nodded, but quickly smacked his friend. "We need to stop talking like this! We are terrible amigos! Draco would be ashamed! He is laying in bed right now moaning in agony and suffering while we—his amigos, are laughing and joking around about the past times he felt sick!" he said.

I smiled—he is _so_ sweet! Is he not? "You're right—we are cruel!" Hector replied sadly as they walked off.

Wow—if only Ron had heard this! Touched, I smiled and skipped up to our common room. Unfortunately, my happiness faded fast when I met up with Ron and Harry. Ron gave me the coldest look I'd ever seen on his face. Bugger. "Hermione—were you really defending Malfoy?" Harry questioned right away, his face in a cold frown and voice as icy as McGonagall's had been.

I froze at the very words, gulping hard as my heart sped up and began to beat five times faster than a normal heart of a clam and relaxed human. I wanted to strangle Ron for even mentioning it to Harry in the first place. "Look, both of you, I've not really been myself lately, okay? I—well—you see--"

"Were you or were you not defending the enemy?" Harry demanded.

I gulped again. He made it sound like a crime. "Well—no—but yes—uh, kinda I guess…look, please, Harry, the answer is no, I wasn't—but I might've been…ugh—I don't know! I feel so strange today! I don't know what's going on with me, really, I'm clueless…first Blaise and then--"

"Oh! Now you're having feelings for that Spanish git Blaise?" Ron screamed, startled and hurt.

"No! Of course not—okay, maybe I do like him a bit, but he's really sweet! He really cares for his friends and he's cute, too—and clean, if you noticed!" I explained, trying to defend myself.

"He **IS** quit a comedian," Harry pointed out after a moment of thinking.

Ron's jaw dropped. "**HARRY**!" Ron roared. "Stop defending her and that Slytherin slime-ball! You're on my side, remember?"

"Oh—sorry, mate," Harry apologized quickly before the flaming redhead could burst anymore.

"Now, forget Harry's comment, Hermione, it was total bollix. Slytherins are funny. Cunning, awful, nasty, ballsy, slimy—yes! Funny—no! Let me get this through your thick and insane head, okay? It doesn't matter if Blaise care for his friends if who he's caring for—his friends are slimy, bloody gits like Malfoy, or Crabbe and Goyle," Ron explained quickly while Harry nodded beside him.

I shook my head in anger. "Ron, Blaise has never insulted your family, Harry's, or mine, okay, so why does this mean so much to you?" I questioned with my arms crossed.

"One word, Hermione: Slytherin," Ron growled as Harry once again nodded in agreement.

I rolled my eyes. I can't believe I have such immature friends. "Did you two not listen to one word McGonagall said today on the four houses of Hogwarts? She explained that it doesn't matter what house you're sorted into and that you can have friends in all of them. Including Slytherin. I'm sorry that you guys are still too immature go near any Slytherins. I hope you know that just because everyone that goes bad is in Slytherin doesn't exactly mean that everyone in Slytherin **WILL** go bad," I told them as Ron dropped his jaw again.

"Oh, I am so glad you feel that way! At least McGonagall brainwashed somebody in this school. Too bad it had to be **YOU** out of all people!" Ron yelled.

"Ron, I don't love him or anything—I was just checking him out a bit. It doesn't mean I want him. It's called hormones," I quickly explained.

"No, Hermione. It's called betraying your friends," Ron replied coldly.

"But--"

I couldn't say anything more because at that moment, Ron stormed out of the room and ran up to his dorm. Great—this day just gets better and better, doesn't it? I sighed, finally sitting down on a couch near the fireplace as Harry now turned to me, taking the empty spot to my left. I felt like crying.

Yesterday everything seemed fine and now today everything in my life has fallen apart. I looked down at the ground for several minutes before anyone said anything. "Hermione--" Harry's voice finally cracked, "You—you have feelings for Blaise?"

My stomach flinched at the very thought. "Well, not exactly feelings…more like thoughts…very bad thoughts that should have never been thought," I explained.

He nodded scratching his head and finally standing up to stretch and then return to his dorm. This was it. The end. By tomorrow morning all of Gryffindor tower would hate me. All because of a boy. A boy that I didn't really even like. Why did I have to think all those crazy love thoughts? Look where it landed me! Nowhere good, that's for sure. I shook my head in fury, roughly searching the common room for a blank roll of parchment and high-quality pen. I might have lost my friends, but I'm not going to disappoint my 'owl pal'. I thought a moment before writing a few sentences.

_Dear Owl Pal,_

_Dumbledore has ordered the whole school to participate in this Owl Pal program, and so here I am writing this letter. I wish to inform you that I am not one of those people who judges a person by their reputation or what house they've been sorted into. I absolutely hate to see the four houses splitting apart and assure you that I don't hate any of them. Not even Slythern._

I stopped here, too tired to go on. This letter meant everything ot me, and it had to be perfect. How could it be perfect if I wrote it in the dead of the night tired and angry? Exactly. It couldn't. I yawned, rubbing my tired eyes and putting my quill and parchment away. Then, slowly and silently, I too, returned to my dorm. What a day…


	5. Dream Number Six

_**A/N: Hi everybody! I know it's been awhile, and I apologize. On the bright side, this is a fairly long chappie! Anyways, I would like to say a special thank you to one of my reviewers, KoolKerry25. You totally rock—thanks so much again! If Draco seems a bit loopy that's because he's been drugged up on pain medication thanks to Madame Pomfrey. Hope you have a happy holiday!**_

Draco Malfoy

Tick…. tock… tick…. tock…. the huge town clock quickly approached its midnight bell. I stood shivering in the darkness, ready for another run to my death. Or was I ready? I never felt prepared. I never had a steady heartbeat or caught myself smiling at the creature. I also never cheered at the sound of the clock and its midnight bell. Nothing frightened me more than knowing as soon that last bell rang, I'd be running as fast as I could for a last attempt to spare my life. And it never worked. I gulped, trying to breathe as the creature growled, stalking me as usual. This time, it circled me, leaving me both dizzy and nauseous. Then, unless it was just me, and I was going insane from all the madness, I thought I heard a faint laugh. One of those high- pitched, evil- demon- kind- of – laughs. You know, like the movies? Dracula or the Wolf Man. Possibly Frankenstein. That kind of evil.

I thought a moment or two, and then the nightmare began. My palms began to sweat as my whole body shook like mad. The bell made its first ring and the creature came closer to my fragile and pale body. Four, five, six, my stomach tightened. The creature slithered even closer now. I nearly stopped breathing. Eight, nine, ten, oh bugger. Eleven and twelve. I shot forward. I didn't look behind me. Did I ever? Maybe the first time. I'm not sure. That was several times before. Some can even say _lives_ before. _Lives_ as in I died and came back. That's the way it's been for me, anyway. I live this moment for a while and then die. You would think that it would just stop there, but it doesn't. Later on, I return to this very moment, die, return, die, return, die, return, die, and return once more. Forever and ever. It never ends. I run. I scream. I kick. I yell. Nothing works.

In fact, I'm running as we speak. I ran through the town, up and down all the dark alleys and now towards the forest. The dark, creepy, dangerous forest. I hate forests. I honestly do. Just thinking about what they hide beneath all the bushes and trees sends cold shivers down my spine. Of course, when hooded figures are chasing you, what choice do you have? So, remembering I had no other choice, I entered the forest, aware of all the dangers awaiting me.

I tried to scream, but all that came out was a dry, raspy and low wail. Even if it had been a loud, clear, scream, no one would have come. I knew that. I didn't want to face it, but I knew it every single time that I tried to yell. I ran even faster, trying to weave in and out of the thick bark of the tall oak trees that surrounded me. Blood pounded through my ears as the right sleeve of my black satin robes caught the branch of a tree. I let it hang there, as there was no time to go back for it. The creature would kill me before I ever got it untangled from the almost life-like branches.

Within seconds my bare arm became covered in sticky, dark-red blood. I hated blood, too. But there was no time to stop and panic at the blood. There was not time for fainting or screaming or even mending my arm. Instead, I sped up even more, running for my life until something stopped me. I'd just passed an enormous set of trees, not looking at the ground when I tripped. My shoe caught a low-laying branch on the ground and flew off my foot as I fell flat on my face. Blood spattered everywhere and I fought the tremendous urge to barf, trying to think of other things besides blood. I squeezed my eyes shut for support, watching an image of Pansy Parkinson, my girlfriend. And now my two best friends, Hector and Blaise, quickly followed up my favorite Potions Master. But it didn't last long; soon Harry Potter, my father, and the creature were all staring at me, laughing and pointing…smirking, laughing, muttering, whispering, pointing…it's all too much…

My face now felt wet. I think I was crying. I opened my eyes and swept my quivering hand across my face, leaving it wet with my salty tears. I **WAS** crying. Silent, warm tears were streaming down my face and down my neck. I hadn't cried in forever. Not since I was a child. Maybe not even then. Yet somehow, at this moment, I had no trouble letting it all out. I cried loudly, not even caring about the Malfoy name. What did it matter? My father wasn't here. He wasn't coming to save me, either. If he did come, it would be after the creature killed me, and if he smacked me then, I wouldn't feel it. I'd be dead, and father would be insane. Who smacks their dead child for crying because they were about to die? That's right, no one. Not even my violent father. He would rather do it before I died so I could feel it. It's more fun if the victim screams. Every good villain knows that.

The air suddenly shifted, feeling cooler as something lifted me right off of the ground and pushed me up against the bark of a tree with only one arm. My thoughts drained quickly as I felt myself become as stupid as a vegetable or…or…I can't remember anymore. All I knew was that this was the works of the hooded figure. And even that memory was fading. I opened my dry mouth to scream again, but the figure covered my mouth instantly. Then, after an awkward moment of silence, it slowly lowered its long, black cape to reveal—

I suddenly awoke in a cold sweat, leaning over the hospital bed and vomiting all over the clean floor. Madam Pomfrey rushed to my side.

"Oh, dear!" she shrieked; " Your burning up again! I wish I could keep this fever down, but everything I give you comes back up again!" She held out her wand to clean up my mess on the floor and then helped me to sit up on the bed.

"This is what I'll do," she explained, "I'll find a few extra blankets for you so you'll stop shaking so bad and I'll get a cold rag to lay across your forehead for that fever of yours. And perhaps a trash can by your bedside for when you feel queasy. I'd like to keep my floor clean at all times," she said, although my mind wasn't exactly on what she was going to do.

I gripped the blankets I already had, running my fingers through my beautiful blonde locks. My mind was leaning towards the dream that I just woke up from. Six times… and this is the worst one yet. I actually CRIED! I never cry—not even in my dreams! This is serious! I mean, think about it! Draco Malfoy crying in his dreams. It even sounds wrong!

I shook even harder at this thought. Yuck—me crying—I might just barf again. Well, of course, not until Madam Pomfrey returns with that trash can. She hates getting her perfect floor dirty all the time, and she already isn't fond of me. I have the feeling she might just poison me if I barf AGAIN on her floor.

I slowly breathed in and out to restrain that horrible urge to barf. Having the Wizard Flu always makes you feel nauseous, even after you've emptied your stomach to the point where there's nothing left TO throw up. It also leaves you light-headed with a constant headache. I suppose this is the result to never being able to keep anything down successfully, because it just comes right back up. By the end of a week, you're basically spitting up water—I always hate that part. It's absolutely miserable and quite painful.

Of course, this is nothing compared to the hot flashes and cold-spells you experience. And the nasty cough you get that takes forever to finally cure. Not to mention the high fevers which result in strange hallucinations that I refuse to go into. Anyways, my point is that the wizard flu is not something you want to be infected with. EVER. I'm sure now that you've had a taste of what I'm going through right now that you're glad to be flu-free. I wish I could that I was flu-free, but…man! Would I be lying!

I sat back as the medi- witch returned with a wool blanket, a cold rag, and a small trash bag. She placed the rag across my forehead and spread the blanket out on the bed for me.

" There," she said, " Now don't worry about the blanket, if you need to shed it during hot- flashes, you can. But don't remove the rag until I tell you to. I'm trying to keep your fever down, okay? It's getting uncomfortably high," I nodded as she set the trashcan by my bed and left to aid another student with the flu.

I could already tell that the illness was spreading fast. This morning, only three other beds were occupied besides mine, and now, including my bed, there were eleven beds full. Most of the faces were ones younger or older than me, and I seemed to be the only fifth- year Slytherin boy that had caught this nasty bug. I frowned, wishing that everyone could suffer with me. Potter, Granger, Weasley, Thomas, Longbottom, Weasley again… Potter again… Granger again… Finnigan, Brown, um… I'm running out of Gryffindor…

I sneezed again and layed back in my bed. Is Finch- Fletchly a Gryffindor? What about the Patil twins? No? Ugh! I can't think of anymore! Are you sure Finch- Fletchly isn't a Gryffindor? Double sure? Fine… what about Terry Boot? No? Susan Bones? No? Harry Potter? **_No!_** Okay, _now_ you're just saying 'no' to annoy me! I don't trust you anymore!

I guess I'll start all over again. Potter, Granger, Weasley… Granger, Weasley, Potter… Weasley, Potter, Granger… why am I naming Gryffindors anyway? Oh. Yeah. Because I want them all to get the flu.

Speaking of the flu, my stomach burned again as I gagged and tried to keep calm. I quickly leaned over the bed and emptied my stomach into the small trashcan tied to a little brown dresser. When I looked back up again after sitting up and calming down, two familiar faces greeted me. The African- American boy with frizzy, black, and curly hair could only be Hector, and the other light- colored, Hispanic boy could only be Blaise. I smiled slightly to express how happy and grateful I was for the visit.

" Wow! You look like you've just seen a ghost, dude!" Hector exclaimed without a clue. Blaise smacked him in the back of the head as he always did when Hector was being stupid, foolish, or sometimes rude.

" D man has the flu, Hector! Could you be any more rude to him? What do you expect? Throwing up is gonna make you look peaky! Say Lo Siento!" 

" Lo Siento," Hector mumbled, understanding Spanish. Between the three of us, I was the only one who could speak Latin and couldn't speak Spanish. Right now, I'm assuming that Lo Siento means I'm sorry. But that's just a guess. It might mean I'm rude… or I'm stupid… I don't know! I'm sorry sounds the best, though, doesn't it?

" It's okay, Hector, I'm not offended," I said, " I probably AM ghost white," Hector smiled and patted my shoulder.

" Yeah, but I'm still sorry. Throwing up does make a fella real pale," he sighed, just relieved that I wasn't mad.

" Not as pale as I am, though. There's two reasons—that, and dream number six," I clued them both in.

Blaise looked even more shocked than Hector. I braced myself for their reactions.

"AGAIN?" He exclaimed in horror as Hector had to take a seat.

They both had a hard time letting the news sink in, but Blaise seemed to take it the worst. I assumed it was because he was the one on my side, who strongly believed that the dreams were a sign that meant something. He began to pace back and forth around my bed, mumbling under his breath in Spanish, an action he never took unless situations were really out of control.

I gulped hard and gripped my blankets tightly, praying the dreams would stop. Praying that Hector was the right one and they meant nothing. Praying that they were normal. Praying to every higher power that I could simply forget about them and never think or speak of them ever again.

All I wanted was to be normal—to be respected. To not be laughed at or judged by my last name or my house. But that was too much to ask for at Hogwarts. I knew that… wait. Why the heck am I acting so dramatic? Since when do I bloody care what people think of me? This is bollix—it must be all the medication I'm on. It's making me crazy… no wonder I feel so goofy…

I quickly shook it off and turned back to my still stunned and shocked friends.

" It's okay, guys," I assured them, " I'm still here, aren't I? It's not like I'm dead or anything, right?" They nodded silently and relaxed a bit.

" Are you sure your okay, dude? Don't worry about us, we're fine. What it all comes down to is you. How are you holding up?" Blaise asked shakily after a few moments.

I shrugged. "Honestly, matters are going down hill. These dreams—I swear they're becoming worse. I get more detail in each one—like, in this one--"

I stopped suddenly. I didn't want them to know I'd cried. It was…personal. It probably wouldn't help them anyway—no one ever said I had to tell them EVERY SINGLE detail anyway. So instead, I said, "in this one—well I woke up vomiting since I have the flu. And I'm dizzy, light-headed, and the medicine Pomfrey's got me on—it's completely messing with my brain, because I feel weird and goofy. You guys are right, I'm NOT okay."

"Pobrecito," Blaise soothed, whatever that means.

All I know is he said the same word in my third year after Buckbeak bit me, and again in my fourth year after Mad-eye Moody transformed me into a ferret for a punishment. "Too much information, D man," Hector moaned, suddenly appearing rather green.

Hector has always been queasy at the sight of blood, vomit, or sick people, and even simply talking about it makes him sick to the stomach. I quickly changed the subject, looking at the books in Hector's arms. "Sorry, mate. So…I'm guessing you two didn't come up here to see me vomit, eh?"

Blaise shook his head. "You've got a bit of homework to make up—some Defence Against the Dark Arts worksheets, a Charms essay—and--"

He looked at Hector, "You can explain Transfiguration, man,"

Hector shook his head. "You!" he cried.

"You!"

"No, you!"

"Hey, hey! Will one of you please explain?" I exclaimed.

What was so bad about Transfiguration that neither of them were willing to tell me about it? "It's not me," Blaise insisted as he crossed his arms.

"I forgot half of the assignment," Hector stated, crossing his arms, too.

"How about both of you take turns telling me? Hector—you tell me what you remember. And, Blaise—you tell me what Hector can't. Fair enough?"

They sighed, but then both nodded in agreement. "It's really dumb," Hector began. "It's to unite the four houses of Hogwarts, but I doubt it'll work."

"It's called an Owl Pal program," Blaise smirked, laughing at the name.


	6. Fights and an Unexpected Visitor

A/N: **Yes, I know it's been forever. Do forgive me. Now that school's almost out updates should be more often. **

"Good morning, everyone! This is WQMZ Live, your best choice for feel-good, upbeat music when your feeling low and dismal, need waking up on those tough school mornings, or hey! Maybe you just need a good music station!"

"That was just 'Good Monday Morning' by LaShaunda, hopefully snapping all of you sleepy heads out of your soundless slumber. And we hop you do have a good Monday morning! It is 9:00 A.M, a fairly cloudless day…"

Still half-asleep, I rubbed my eyes tiredly and yawned, only half-hearing my alarm. Monday. Yuck—I absolutely hate Mondays and…did she say 9:00 A.M? Panicking, I jumped up glanced at the clock on my bedside. 9:02 A.M.

Oh, bugger. This can't be happening! I can't even recall the last time I overslept—it's been years! Why now? Why today? " Urg! I'm late!" I screamed out of frustration.

Why didn't anybody wake me up? I understand everyone hates me because of the whole 'Ron's Robes' incident—but, honestly, that gives them no right to just allow me to oversleep. Lavender especially knows how much grades mean to me, since she strives just as hard in school. So how could she?

Felling a surge of anger in myself, I leaped across the room to my dresser, distracting my thoughts as I rummaged through a drawer. As soon as I found them, I threw my robes on and scrambled for my books and supplies. I couldn't have been more flustered. I'd already missed Charms and was late for—oh, no—Potions. Just my luck. Where's the time-turner when you need it?

I practically ran down the stairs to the dungeons and slipped into the darkened classroom. Luckily, there was an empty desk at the back so I didn't make a huge distraction.

"Nice of you to join us, Miss Granger," Snape drawled. "I didn't know you had it in you to show up late for class.

I flinched. "Fifteen points, Granger. Be thankful it isn't more. I'm being nice," he said lazily.

Nice? Yeah, and two plus two is seven! Lavender shot me a nasty look, and I mouthed the words, 'If you had just woke me up!'

She rolled her eyes and mouthed back, 'Cry me a river!'

I let out a frustrated sigh. I'm **REALLY** growing to hate her! Ugh! I replayed my encounter with Lavender last night…

"Hey Lavender?" I questioned as she entered our dorm.

I was finishing up my DADA essay while lying stomach-down on my bed. "What?" she questioned irritably.

For a split second, I thought she was mad at me for defending Malfoy the other day. But, no—surely she would've taken it out on me before now? Scratching my thoughts, I went on, pretending nothing was wrong.

"I was just double-checking—our DADA essay needs to be four rolls of parchment, correct?"

Lavender shot me a death glare. "NO! It has to be ten rolls!" She replied sarcastically, heaving a huge sigh as if answering my question had drained all of her energy.

"Well you don't have to be so hateful," I snapped back.

What was her deal? "And you don't have to be all lovey-dovey with the Slytherins," she hissed, plopping down on her own bed.

"What?" I blurted out, shocked by her words.

Lovey-dovey? Slytherin? What was she playing at? It took me a long time to realize that I was not only standing up, but also right across from a steaming-hot, surly Lavender Brown. How I ended up in my current position was beyond me—I couldn't even remember standing to my feet! One moment I'm lying down, and the next I'm standing on the other side of the dorm. I guess when you're mad, you don't think, you just do…

"I'm talking about you liking a Slytherin!" She shrieked, spitting out the last word as if it were a poison.

My heart thumped. How much did Harry and Ron tell her? I knew this would spread like wildfire! "How much did R—how much did you hear?" I questioned hesitantly, and carefully.

"Just that you like a Slytherin. That's sickening enough, isn't it? Thank Merlin I don't know who—I'd have nightmares!" she shivered.

Relief washed over me—but at the same time, anger surged. How dare she? How could she be so blind? So cold? So hateful? And yet…I couldn't hold a grudge against her for it—all the Gryffindors felt the same way. Everyone who wasn't a Slytherin felt that way. It was the reason for the Owl Pal program.

"Slytherins are just like us, Lav," I reasoned.

Maybe I could gently knock some since into her. I braced myself just in case. "Excuse me? Am I hearing this—am I really hearing this from you Hermion Granger? I beg to differ--"

"Please don't! I don't want to hear how brain-washed you are!" I retorted, crossing my arms threateningly.

"Me brain-washed? Excuse me, you're the one in love with an evil slime-ball!" she clenched her knuckles and narrowed her dark-chocolate eyes.

"What is wrong with that, I if I am? If I was. Not that I--" I trailed off.

I wasn't in love, was I? No. NO, NO, NO! Absolutely not. No way…

"See! You ARE in love!" Lavender shuddered, snapping me out of my thoughts. "No, I'm N--"

"You trailed off. You can't say it, can you? That you're not in love with a Slytherin?" she challenged.

I rolled my eyes. This was so stupid. "It doesn't matter if you think I am or not. Because I know I'm not, and that's all that matters," I replied evenly.

It was her turn to roll her eyes. I went on, "All I'm saying, Lavender, is that we all have feelings. What if you were in Slytherin--"

"Well, I'm not, now am I?" she sassily cut me off.

"Let's pretend," I continued as if she'd not said a word. "You feel differently, now would you not? Maybe that's the reason you'd act up—because everybody expected you to, right?"

"No!" she crossed her arms obstinately.

"Lavender, we are all the same--"

"Oh, shut up! This is extremely corny. 'Oh, we're all the same!'—That's the best you have to defend yourself for your crush? The Slytherins really **HAVE** gotten to you! And to think that you actually think I'm the brain-washed one here!"

"Please listen--"

She cut me off for the second time in a row. "You probably were sent here by your new boyfriend to brain-wash me, and to do that, you had to convince me that I'm already brain-washed in the first place, or whatever—"

It was my turn to cut her off. "I am NOT dating a Slytherin!" I huffed at her.

"Deny it all you want, but everyone knows about your secret. And for the record, your plan has just backfired, Granger. Save your breath. I'm not treating Slytherins like royalty. Just because you think they're total hotties!"

Where was she getting all of this? What made her think that just because I thought a Slytherin was hot, I was now dating one? What made her come to the conclusion that I wanted them treated like royalty? I just want them treated like everyone else is all! That's all. Ugh…stupid rumors…I hate people spreading rumors!

"Personally," Lavender continued sourly, "I don't care what they look like on the outside—not that they look any better, but it wouldn't matter if they did, because on the inside they're horrid, insensitive jerks!"

My blood boiled up again. Can you believe her? "Oh, look who's talking!" I shouted. "If anyone's a horrid, insensitive jerk, Lavender, it's you! And you know why? Because you judge people before you get to know them. And because of that, you're going to miss out on a lot of great friends."

My tone lowered to an almost whisper. "I feel sorry for you."

"Oh. What. Ever. Like I need your sympathy!" she shot back nastily. "And like Slytherins would ever make good friends anyway!"

I sighed. "There you go again! Judging! You don't even realize—that's how much you do it! You may not know it, but you're worse than Slytherins. At least everyone expects Slytherins to act up and spread lies. But Gryffindors are supposed to not be like that. Everyone expects good behavior from us, and you—"

"You know what? I don't have to take this!" she huffed, marching over to the dresser and grabbing her purse and book bag. "Hermione Granger, you best stay out of my face from now on. Next time I won't walk away like this, and that's a threat. It'll be on!"

And with that, she stomped out, hands on her hips, mumbling under her breath. I sank to my knees…what was I thinking? If the Owl Pal Program didn't knock her in the back with an epiphany, what convinced me that I had the power to change her mind? Let's face it—some people NEVER change…

DRACO MALFOY

Hector and Blaise left me stunned. Utterly and completely shocked. I'd have to admit, I always knew Dumbledore was a little wacky—but this! It's official—the man's insane! Honestly. An Owl Pal Program? Just the name sounds—well, Blaise called it 'retarded, and Hector, 'lame'.

The idea in itself isn't so bad—but it'll NEVER in a million years work. Once the houses are split, they can't reunite. Trust me. Just because I'm running a fever doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about. "Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey strode towards me. "You have another visitor."

I groaned. Hector and Blaise's energy had already drained me. This was one of those moments where I wished the medi-witch would insist on NO visitors. I mean, I threw up twice during Hector and Blaise's presence and, well—do you really enjoy throwing up in front of friends?

My groan turned into an almost cry when I saw who exactly it was visiting me. I threw up again—but this time, it was in my mind.

A/N:** Muhahaha! Cliffhanger! Virtual cookie for anyone who can guess who the visitor is **


	7. Make that two unexpected visitors

A/N: Hey, guys. I'm extremely sorry for the lack of updates lately. I've been kinda depressed. This story doesn't seem to be going the way I want and I can't help feeling like it's been boring the last few chapters. I'm really sorry. I want to write well but I can't. If you have any writing tips or advice, please feel free to e-mail me.

Anyways, here's the next chapter.

"Hi, Drakie! How are you? I'm so sorry that I haven't visited yet—I've had loads of homework. Gotta keep up the grades," I winced at the sickenly-perky voice.

"Oh…trust me…you are completely" I replied in an annoyed tone that I prayed she'd pick up on.

What I wanted to say was 'homework? That's way more important than annoying me. If you've got homework, I'd forgive to go ahead and leave like—now!!!'

And since that isn't really what I said because I can't afford for her to cry to my father, the girl simply nodded, remaining planted firmly where she stood.

"Oh, good! I was worried you'd be upset!" She heaved a sigh of relief as I fought against vomiting again.

"Well, you worried for nothing," I shrugged indifferently, trying not to sound too rude.

She giggled in an exasperating, high-pitched way. I rolled my eyes.

"And you're here why…?" I questioned boredly.

"To give you company, of course!" She quickly answered—again, way too perky for my current taste.

"Are your sure you're not here to brag about how much energy you have?" I asked coldly and sternly.

She straightened up, "Oh, no! No, no, no—of course not, baby--"

"Pansy, just because I'm ill and out of the loop does NOT give you permission to take advantage of me and give me pet me pet names. We aren't a couple, okay? I've never allowed you to call me baby. Don't start now," I warned, my voice hoarse from a newly developed sore throat.

She winced, "Sorry—so sorry! Really—I don't mean to take advantage—oh, I'm such an idiot!! Are we still friends?" She apologized, glancing at me with puppy dog eyes and a quivering lip.

Now do you understand why I threw up in my mind?? This girl…I can't believe my father wants us to be together! I can't stand her!

"It's fine…" I sighed, returning the smile to her face.

I bit my lip to keep myself from telling her that I _don't_ want to be friends.

"Great! Thank you! Hey—I wanted to show you something!!" she unzipped her book bag and removed a bright notebook.

"I've started on my Owl Pal letter," she informed me, handing me the hot-pink book while urging me to open it.

'Do I even want to read it??' I wondered. I concluded that I probably didn't, but since she was sitting there waiting for my approval of her letter, I unwillingly opened the unnecessarily bright notebook. If I upset her, my father would for sure hear of it, and then, _I'd_ pay for it.

I stared down at the short, ditzy letter before my eyes.

Dear Owl Pal,

I have no idea what to write, but okay…I suppose nobody does!! I guess I'll start with the fact that I'm a fifth year female…you probably came to that conclusion already, though, right? The purple ink and all…lol.

I'm also an only child. You?

"Well?" she questioned impatiently as I looked up, "I'm going to rip it out of the notebook when I'm finished so I can mail it, in case you're wondering. Do you like it so far—someone did tell you about the Owl Pal Program, right?"

I narrowed my eyes. Why was she showing me this?! Did she honestly assume that I cared?

"It's lovely," I told her sourly, "And yes, I've heard about the program. Hector and Blaise stopped by this afternoon."

"I figured as much," she shrugged.

"But you're stupid," I told her bluntly.

Her reaction, I decided, was priceless. I wished at that moment that I had a camera so I could capture that face forever and use it as blackmail…

Her mouth dropped open in an utterly disgusting, reputation-ruining way, and her eyes bulged out, threatening to pop out of her eye sockets. It really wasn't a good look on her. She should be thankful that everyone around is way too sick to care, or even notice in the first place, for that matter.

I snickered, "What I mean is, why be the first to send a letter? You're stupid because if I were you, I'd wait for a letter before I even touched a quill. It's easier. You just have to answer the questions, whereas, if you write first, you have to think of the questions," I explained to clear up the confusion and rid her of her repulsive expression,  
"That's what I'm doing anyway. I'm waiting for a letter before I write one,"

"Oh!" she lit up like a light bulb, "Brilliant!"

She tore out the paper from the notebook, crumbled it up into a snowball without second thought, and carelessly tossed it into the trash bin.

"Thanks, Draco!" she beamed, skipping out of the room like a ballerina.

I sighed inwardly in relief, thanking every higher power that her visit hadn't been dreadfully long. Rolling over to my side, my eyes instantly fluttered shut and I entered a light sleep.

It seemed like only seconds after falling asleep that I awoke, but I knew it had been longer. The only light in the room now came from the moon and stars outside the window. Everything else was pitch black and shadowy.

At first I felt stumped about what had caused me to wake up. My stomach felt fine, not hot and bubbly like it did right before I threw up. But then I noticed it. Leaning in the doorway. Another visitor.

A cold swept across the room as the shadowy figure strutted my way. For a terrifying, sickening moment, my blood ran cold and my entire body froze up like an ice burg. I couldn't even blink. All I could do was stare and pray that what I was seeing wasn't actually there.

The figure of my dreams had stepped out of dreamland and into reality!! No. How could this be happening? Was it even possible? The oxygen in my lungs cut off and I'd swear my heart quit beating. My brain shut off and I was left as a breathing corpse.

But then the shadow stepped closer, and as it came into focus, I noticed that _it_ was actually a _he_. Just as sudden as fear overtook me, it vanished without a trace as if it had never been there at all. My blood continued flowing, the oxygen in my lungs returned, my heart began beating again and I heaved a huge sigh of relief. All the muscles in my body relaxed.

I knew that he wasn't exactly the most pleasant person in the world to be in the same room with, but when I compared him to the hooded figure, he was definitely a better choice. Nobody could frighten me like the figure of my dreams—not even the cold-hearted man who stood before me, a nasty sneer plastered to his face.

I tugged my sheets and blankets tighter around my frail body to protect myself against the sudden temperature drop. Madam Pomfrey must have accidentally turned the air down.

"Draco…" the icy voice seemed to chill the room even more.

"Father…" I returned, "You knew I was sick?"

"I have my sources," he supplied slyly, "How are you feeling now?"

I narrowed my eyes into slits. He was bored. His voice gave that away clearly. He was obviously here for something other than checking up on me? But then what?

"Well…I'm still in the hospital wing," I answered sourly.

I hoped that he wouldn't realize that I knew he had visited for more than just a check up.

"Yes…"he drawled silkily, "Yes, indeed, you are…"

I inwardly sighed, glad that hoping had worked. He didn't suspect a thing.

His eyes traveled up and down my body, as if inspecting it, trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

"I'm here for the flu," I stated miserably, my tone odd, with sick written all over it.

"Of course," he replied knowingly, "It's…going around…"

Now his voice revealed impatience. Whatever he had come for, whatever he wanted to hear or see from me, he wasn't pleased, and he hadn't found it. I assumed that he'd leave as soon as he got what he came for. The question was—what did he come for?

"So…anything…unusual going on in your life?"

This seemed like an odd question to ask. Unusual? What did he mean by _that?_

"No!" I told him angrily, wishing he'd give up on his mysterious ways.

He smirked at me, "Well then…if you say so…"

"Why?" I demand.

"Why?" he mocked, " Why?! No reason. Can I not be curious, my son?"

He shot me a long, deep glare at this, one that consumed me, drowning me, until I was sure that looks really could kill.

"Haven't had any epiphanies?" he continued once the deep gaze had broken, though his eyes were still solely fixed on me.

And suddenly, it occurred to me why he had come. It was about me, all right. Not my illness, but my decision. My _own _decision that he still couldn't accept. My heart sank. If he thought for one moment that he could come down here, make me feel guilty while I was all drugged up to get me to change my mind, he was wrong. Dead wrong. And he was sick. A _sick_ man for wanting to go through such measures on his own son. Just because he didn't approve of my decision. Just because I chose to _not _be like him.

"Forget it," I growled, "I still refuse to join you. It's my final answer, Father,"

His lip twisted, and his hands explored the top of his cane, as he debated on whether to hex me or not.

"Fine," he said, almost too calmly, minutes later.

He turned around, silently creeping towards the door. As he reached it, he softly added, "Sweet dreams…Draco…"


	8. Dream 7, Owl Pal Letter 1

Fear. The only feeling my fragile and bruised body could comprehend at the moment. I stood, once again, in the familiar, deserted town that I'd already died in six times. And not far away, hovering just inches above the earth, surrounded by fog, mist, and blackness, lingered the haunter of my dreams; the reason I feared; the reason I ran; the reason I cried; the reason I died.

In the distance, a faint howl could be made out. A howl meant for the moon to hear. Wolves, perhaps? Or werewolves? Both creatures roamed the nearby forest, hunting fresh meat, feasting on old corpses. I'd read about them, hoping they wouldn't sniff me out and eat my dead body, lying all bloody in a pile of dirt after the creature abandoned me…

A shiver spiraled down my spine, though from the image floating tauntingly in my mind, or from the vicious wind, I couldn't decide. I didn't even want to decide—I didn't care. I was numb and frightened and frozen to the bone. Nothing really mattered anymore. This was the end. The end that never ended.

An evil laugh. A soft, but evil laugh that escaped the lips of the figure before me. It was satisfied. It was happy. It was cruel. It made my skin crawl, made me want to vomit, to faint, to escape somehow in some way. To die that instant and be free of the torture, the waiting, the running, and the crying. Oh, how I welcomed death to greet me…

Then the chilly winds picked up, blowing, as they always did against my body, in an unrelenting, uncanny way. They spared my quivering body no pity as they played with my robes, twisting them left and right and up and down. They swept into my once perfect blonde hair, their force stronger than the bottles and bottles of styling gel attempting, and failing, to keep my locks plastered back and out of my face. They even made certain to deafen my ears, howling in a ghost-like, Moaning-Myrtle way as they raced past me and into the beyond.

Still, I didn't care. The wind could form an F5 tornado and suck me up in that precise moment to carry me away if they so pleased to. With any luck, I'd spin into an alternate dimension and be rid of these pointless and absurd midnight runs.

Sourly, I bit my lip, drawing blood. I might as well get used to the metallic taste. There's always blood involved in these runs. It's always mine. I forced a hard swallow of blood and saliva, tapping my foot in anticipation.

Moments later, it happened. The town clock struck twelve, beginning its midnight death bell. One ring and already I'd braced myself, discovering myself in a position that a track member would be in, while awaiting to compete in a race. Five rings and my heart begged—threatened to beat itself straight out of my chest. Ten rings and the creature's hot breath tickled the back of my neck as it chuckled with the knowledge of sure-to-come victory over my soul.

I sprang forward on twelve with rivers of sweat dripping down my face. The creature followed just as always, swinging and rejoicing as if it were all simply a fun, playful, harmless game.

Down the dark alleys I ran, grunting and gasping along the way as slowly my energy died down, as my mouth absorbed my saliva like a sponge, leaving it dry and thirsty for even just a sip of water. I jumped over a garbage can, my shoe flying off in the process. It didn't matter. Just a shoe. I'd live without it…or, rather, die without it…

Ahead of me, the forest. The deep, dark place I entered without ever coming back out. I didn't have time to mentally complain, because one moment, it was in front of my eyes, and the next moment, I was there, dodging my first tree.

A cold, involuntary tear trickled down my cheek, mixing in with my sweat and my bloody, bitten lips. The waterworks didn't cease there, however. Others shortly followed, flowing more and more each second, even as my eyes began to sting.

One by one I avoided the trees and branches, dodges and jumping and hopping in an almost rhythmic way, as if a part of a dance. As soon as I applauded myself at how well I was doing, I stupidly collided headfirst into the thick tree-bark of an oak tree. I shrieked in pain immediately. Around and around spun my surroundings as I dizzily collapsed onto my back.

I moaned deeply, and I swear I cracked my skull. My brain…couldn't function anything…anymore…around and around…around and around…oozing, sticky, crimson blood…lots and lots…lots and lots of dark, sickenly dark blood…

Swiftly, none other than the figure itself lifted me up against the same tree. No—two figures. The blow to my forehead gave me double vision.

"Please…don't…" I whispered hoarsely to the figures.

Both figures shook their heads, a definite no. This had to happen. They had to do this to me.

"Show me…"talking never seemed so hard before, "…who you are…"

Obediently, they nodded, and in unison, they lowered their hoods, revealing…

My eyes snapped open, with an odd pecking on my forehead.

"Ouch!" I exclaimed.

I glanced up and swatted at a little brown owl obviously from the owlery, "How'd you get in here?" I growled, not in the mood for an owl to be bothering me.

Then, noticing the letter tied to its foot, I realized that it had come to drop off my mail. I quickly untied to the letter and shooed the bird away.

Unsealing the envelope, and unfolding the parchment inside, I saw that it was my Owl Pal Letter. Curious, I read on.

Dear Owl Pal,

Professor Dumbledore has ordered the entire school to participate in this Owl Pal Program, so here I sit, writing you this letter. Don't get me wrong, however, if you believe that I'm only writing because I've been forced to.

I'm not in the least bit apathetic towards this unity project. In fact, I believe it's an excellent idea, and very appropriate with the upcoming war. We can accomplish far more if we stand together in one accord instead of all the constant hate.

Whoever you are, I wish to inform you that I am not one of those people who judges a person by their reputation or what house they've been sorted into. I absolutely hate to see the four houses splitting asunder and assure you that I do not loathe any of them. Not even Slytherin when it comes right down to it.

I guess that's why I'm so for this program. I desire to see Hogwarts unite. Perhaps this is what we need. Perhaps everything will end okay, and we really will be able to come together!

Anyways, you may be wondering, but I'm a fifth year female. I honestly hope I've not scared you away so far with my views. I just thought you might as well be aware, on account that my identity will never be revealed.

But perhaps, now that I've gotten all of my views on paper, you'd like to know a bit about me? You probably do, unless you're too scared of me already!

Well, if you are still reading this, I have a little sister, Audrey, who is eight years old. Do you have any siblings? If so, what are their names and how old are they?

My favorite radio station is WQMZ LIVE, which wakes me up each morning for class, and I have a pet cat.

I suppose I'll save a few things for my next letter, so that I'll have something to say!!!

Sincerely,

Your Owl Pal from fifth year


	9. AN: Does anyone still like this story?

Attention:

Hey, is anyone still reading this story and liking it? I ask because I have other stories that I am currently working on that people want me to update, and if nobody likes this anymore, I may end up discontinuing it. So please, if you like this, let me know, otherwise I won't just won't update again. I'm Sorry.

--Harmony


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